


In the Still of the Night Affair

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good old fashion UNCLE romp with bad guys, good guys, a worm in the works and even Hawaiian food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Still of the Night Affair

**Prologue**

Napoleon Solo leaned back in his chair, smiling contentedly. Turning thirty eight wasn't so bad, he decided, as long as you've friends to ease the pain. He glanced across the table to his Russian partner, who was presently engaging both their dates with stories of his childhood. Perhaps he should take a lesson from Illya -- he certainly didn't seem concerned with the fact the all critical forty was looming in their not too distant future. Forty was the mandatory retirement age for an enforcement agent and the mere thought threw Napoleon into a whirlpool of anxiety and worry. Still, Illya had assured him there was life after Section 2, even after U.N.C.L.E., should that be Napoleon's choice and yet…

 

His thoughts were interrupted by the crashing of what he had earlier mistaken as a purely decorative, ornate gong. Then his eye caught the movement of a handful of nearly-topless, grass-skirted waitresses. His stomach dropped as they wound closer to their table. They stopped, bringing forth a flaming bowl of something whose name escaped Napoleon at the moment and began singing a spirited Hawaiian birthing song, complete with necessary swaying and waving of hands.

 

"Happy birthday, Napoleon," Illya Kuryakin murmured. The women bowed low before hurrying back to their other duties. Illya grinned his partner’s slightly flushed face, then gestured to the bowl. "You'd better blow that out before the flame gets to the food."

 

"I really should have expected something like this from you." Napoleon was waving his hands over the bowl. "What is it?"

 

"Well," stated Illya, folding his hands upon the table, assuming a look of total boyish innocence, "if I read the menu correctly, it's made of octopus, coconut and chocolate brandy."

 

"I do hope you flunked Hawaiian in school," his date cooed softly, sweeping back a handful of chestnut hair from her shoulder.

 

A shrill on/off chirp interrupted her as both of the agents’ communicators went off. Napoleon started to reach for his and Illya stayed his hand. “No, you sit, it’s your birthday after all.” Illya sighed. "Guess I better call the hospital and see what's happening. Excuse me." He rose, tossed his napkin onto the chair and threaded his way to the back of the restaurant.

 

"It must be wonderful being a doctor and helping people, but I would think it a terrible nuisance in one's personal life. You have no time for yourself or anyone else." Kath, Napoleon's red-haired date, watched as Illya threaded his way through the tables towards the phone. "I never understood why my mother wanted me to marry one. Unless, of course, she hated me and was just too nice to say so.”

 

Napoleon smiled and nodded. He was glad they’d concocted the cover stories prior to picking up their dates. "Our time isn’t our own. At least not until we’ve saved enough for our own practice. Until then, when they say jump, we jump.”

 

Kath’s mood brightened as she spotted the Russian on his way back. "It was fast. Maybe it was a false alarm."

 

"No, I have a feeling we're about to have a lovely evening abruptly brought to a halt," Napoleon corrected. His skilled eyes read a world of concern in his partner’s face.

 

"Napoleon, I'm afraid you're going to have to put that in an octopus bag. We've got an emergency back at the ranch. There was a ten-car pile-up out in the Bronx and we’re catching the overflow." Illya slid back into his seat, impatiently looking around for their waitress, so he could get their check.  “Of course, you ladies could always stay and take a taxi home.”

 

“Somehow, it just wouldn’t be the same without you.” Juanita, Illya’s date, sighed sadly as she started gathering up her things.

 

                                                            *****

 

Napoleon ushered Kath to the apartment building steps, wishing he had a few minutes and anyone, but Illya waiting for him. With someone else, he might have a shot at a little more than a fast goodnight kiss. However, Illya was not known for his great patience in these circumstances.

 

"Thanks for joining us this evening, Kath. Maybe I'll stop by later, depending upon what’s happening. Perhaps we can continue our little birthday celebration." He kissed her warmly and then took off, waving good bye over his shoulder.

 

He did see her sigh or hear her murmur, "That's what you told me last time, Napoleon Solo, and I didn't see you for two months.”

 

Illya put the car in gear, barely allowing Napoleon the chance to close the door before taking off

 

"You're certainly in a hurry tonight. It's a shame too." Napoleon sank into the bucket seat, ignoring the familiar cement and steel silhouette of the city. "I had such a wonderful celebration planned after dinner."

 

"And what do you think I was looking forward to?" Illya said, drily. “In spite of what people think, I’m not a monk and Juanita makes an incredible egg and avocado omelet.” Swiftly, the Russian maneuvered the car past a slower vehicle, sliding through a yellow light at the intersection.

 

"What did Mr. Waverly say to you anyway that has you in such a hurry.”

“Apparently there’s been a kidnapping of some dignitary and efforts to rescue him have failed so gloriously that they have decided to turn elsewhere for help.”

 

"In fact," Napoleon ventured as the cityscape sped by, “I'd be willing to wager they're ready to cry uncle."

 

 

**Act One**

 

As they entered Alexander Waverly's office, they encountered the older man staring out one of the few windows gracing the building. He glanced over his shoulder, his briar pipe clenched firmly in his teeth.

 

"Gentlemen, you're late. You should have been able to make the trip from Blue Hawaii to here in less than thirty minutes," he said, chastising.

 

“It was only proper that we drop off our dates first, sir,” Napoleon said as he stood in place. “I suspect they would be less than enamored with our working conditions.”

 

"Yes, well, perhaps now that the gaiety of the evening is behind you, we can get down to business. Do you know why you’re here?" He strode from the window to his usual seat at the circular table, indicating they, too, should join him.

 

"We have ascertained that it has something to do with the kidnapping of Ambassador Starr.” Napoleon picked up the file folder before him as he slid into a chair. Illya sat as well, one hand groping inside his jacket for his glasses.

 

Waverly appeared briefly surprised at Napoleon's answer, but it was gone almost before it was there. "Ahem… yes, well, that's very perceptive of you, Mr. Solo." Waverly set his pipe aside, then depressed a button on the table top. On a nearby screen flashed a picture of a clean-cut, middle-aged man with short –cropped brown hair. His face was creased with lines clearly indicating him as a man of authority and decision. "This is Ambassador Benjamin Starr.” _Who?_ Illya mouthed and Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. “He was last seen the morning of April 24, at which time four men broke into his apartment. His wife and daughter were also taken. The daughter was later found, barely alive, at a garbage dump. Sadly, Ambassador’s Starr’s wife had already expired from dehydration and the elements."

 

"Needless to say, the daughter wasn't much help to the police.” Illya glanced up briefly from the report.

 

"On the contrary. Miss Starr was able to produce very clear sketches of three of the kidnappers. It seems she studied art in school and was most observant during the incident. These sketches, however, have produced no significant leads as yet, except for identifying the men as part of a terrorist group known as _Protagonistas de la Gente_. They were later found in a roadside ditch with their throats slit."

 

“So much for honor among thieves,” Napoleon said quietly.

 

“Or kidnappers.” Illya added. “This _Protagonistas de la Gente_ group is particularly bloodthirsty.”

 

"Heroes of the people," Napoleon translated, one corner of his mouth twisted. "I haven't heard of them before. Illya where did you --?"

 

“I saw something in a communiqué about a month ago, something about insurgents. Sir, why have they waited for so long to call us in?”

 

The slide was replaced by another and this one was of a bearded, gaunt and disheveled Starr. He’d obviously been roughed up, if not tortured. He was holding a sign written in Spanish.

 

"They are new only to us, Mr. Solo. The group has been in existence for nearly five years. For a long time, they have operated very quietly, within their own borders. Local authorities tried to deal with them. Only recently have they branched out, as it were." Waverly packed fresh tobacco into the pipe's bowl. "They've made it known Starr will only be returned alive if certain key political prisoners are released by their government. Until then, they appear ready to hold steady"

 

“Are we certain he’s still alive?” Napoleon glanced from the slide to Waverly and back.

 

“We are. By studying certain elements of this most recent photograph, it was determined that it was taken just a few days ago. The United Nations has reached its limit waiting to the local government to deal with them and has turned to us. They also sent along a finger, which was examined by our forensic scientists and judged to be recently removed.”

 

“Perhaps they kept it on ice,” Illya suggested.

 

“The reports indicate otherwise.”

 

"Apparently they declared him an enemy of the people and to be judged by a proletarian court." Illya read the sign aloud. "Hmmm… the scales of justice seem rather tilted against him.”

 

Waverly returned the pipe to his mouth and puffed for a few moments. Both Napoleon and Illya knew their only option was to merely wait until the old man was ready to continue. “It's the opinion of the local man in charge Starr is of no use to them dead, but their patience is beginning to wear out. They want their comrade released. It would be easier if the prisoners hadn’t already been executed for their crimes."

 

"Whoops, bet someone lost his job over that," Solo murmured aside to Illya.

 

“And quite probably his head as well.” Illya closed his copy of the report and set it aside. "The man in charge, is he dependable?"

 

"Mercer Rainer," Waverly said, consulting a sheet of paper. "He's been in command of our Argentina anti-terrorist squad for a little over three years. Before that, he was a top agent of ours in France until an unfortunate brush with THRUSH forced his retirement. This is the first serious trouble he's had that he hasn’t been able to handle and he's a bit reluctant to allow outside help.”

 

“He’s ex-UNCLE then?” Illya frowned, running through faces and names in his head. “I don’t recall…”

 

“He had a different name back then. We gave him a new identity to protect his family. Sadly it didn’t help and he found himself estranged and without any skills except for what UNCLE had taught him.”

 

“He wasn’t detrained?” Napoleon exchanged a fast look with Illya.

 

“It was deemed impossible and unnecessary at the time.” Waverly set his pipe aside. “He had a brilliant career following a meteoric rise, one to rival even yours, Mr. Solo. He was in line to become Section One Number One in Europe, but on his last mission, something went terribly wrong. THRUSH…” Mr. Waverly stopped and looked off into the distance. When he looked back, there was a look of regret in his eyes. “He is skilled, he is highly trained and, he is not altogether happy about having to ask for help from us. He would like to end this quickly and cleanly. More importantly, he would like to end it his way.

 

"I certainly have no quarrel with that," Napoleon said, flipping shut his folder. "His way is fine with me as long as he doesn’t get in my way doing it.”

 

"You are to meet with him upon touchdown in Caracas. That's where his operation is based. Remember that you are there to retrieve the Ambassador alive. Mr. Rainer will be in charge of this operation. Follow his lead, Mr. Solo.”

 

"In other words, no locking horns with this guy." Illya jabbed Napoleon in the ribs and rose to his feet, tucking the glasses back into a jacket pocket.

 

"Mr. Solo, do try to keep the reins on your… um… impetuousness during this affair. Mr. Kuryakin, do what you can."

 

Illya tried to hide his smile as a look of boyish innocence played across Napoleon’s face.

 

"I'll see to it, sir," Illya said.

“And you, Mr. Kuryakin, try to contain your natural proclivities when it comes to explosions. Our insurance premiums are high enough as it is.”

 

This time it was Napoleon’s turn to smirk. "We'll contact you upon landing," he promised, rising and grabbing Illya’s elbow to guide him forcefully from the room.

 

“I never blow up stuff by accident,” Illya protested once Waverly’s door had closed behind them.

 

“You know that and I know that, and deep down, so does Mr. Waverly, but at the moment, let’s pretend we can play nice with others. Get down to research and start pulling everything you can on this _Protagonistas de la Gente_ group.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I’m going to see what I scratch up on Mr. Rainer. I like to have our ducks in a row before we head into the unknown. I’ll meet you at airport check in two hours.”

 

 

**Act Two**

The two agents stood quietly before the security officer.   Illya handed the man a form and reached into his pocket for his passport, ID, and concealed weapons permit. "I just hope we can handle this guy. From what Mr. Waverly gave us, he could be rather… uncooperative."

 

“Does the name Tinker mean anything to you?”

 

“First word that comes to mind is scary. I was in the London office and he blew through once, literally blew though. I’d never seen anyone so… so…” Illya made a gesture with his hands, as if clutching and crushing a ball, twisting it this way and that before realizing that the security officer and several bystanders were staring at him. He quietly accepted his paperwork back. “You don’t mean…?” he whispered to Napoleon as he slid his ID and passport back into his jacket pocket.

 

“I was a junior agent, still green from the island. I’d never met a man who was so single-minded or so frightening. I’ve seen committed agents before and he took it to a new level.”

 

“I thought he was dead.” Illya watched Napoleon tuck his permit and ID card away.

“According to UNCLE, he is. On the other hand, Mercer Rainer is alive and well, coming into existence just about the same time Tinker disappeared. UNCLE plastic surgeons did what they could, but it wasn’t much help.”

 

“And yet he wasn’t detrained? That seems foolhardy.”

 

They walked away from security towards the gate. Around them people hurried back and forth to or from planes, all caught up in their little world, unaware of how much of that world was held in the balance of the two average-appearing businessmen they rushed past.

 

"I wouldn't worry about it. I’m sure it had to gall him to contact Waverly. However if he wasn't desirous of our help, our services wouldn't have been requested in the first place.”

 

“Why is Starr so important that he’s drawing so much attention to begin with? It’s a common, if unfortunate practice in South America to kidnap officials and hold them for ransom. Who is this guy to be drawing all the attention?”

 

“There wasn’t anything on Starr in Research, except for what Waverly told us.” Napoleon seemed uncomfortable admitting such a thing.

 

“That’s… odd. I thought we knew everything about everyone.”

 

“Exactly, which tells me he is either a man of great importance or of none what-so-ever. I’m betting on the former. When I brought it up to Mr. Waverly, I was told that the whole point of this mission is to get the Ambassador out, not start any wars." Napoleon flicked a practiced eye up to check the reader board. Their plane would be boarding any minute now.

 

"Don't talk to me about that, you're the one who's always striking it up with some local and bringing her family down upon us. My track record is clean.”

 

Napoleon scratched at the corner of an eye, watching as people started filing past them. Finally, he asked quietly. "Illya, what do you know about either of these groups that we're about to come face to face with?" At the wide eyed look from his partner, he shrugged and continued. "Well, you're usually the one who digs around for this stuff and I don’t like being unprepared."

 

"You know me too well."

 

The counter attendant noted their arrival, cradling a phone to one ear. “They’ve just arrived, thank you." He hung up the phone and waved them through while the other passenger glared disapprovingly at them. “If you gentlemen will come this way.”

 

"As I was saying," Illya picked up once they had cleared the gate and began walking up the narrow walkway to the plane. "You know me too well. Do you want the good guys or the bad guys first?

 

“Ah, bad, I like to know what we’re heading into… ah, _Protagonistas de la Gente,_ I believe they call themselves.”

 

“There wasn't much on them. They're pretty new at least to UNCLE, but they seem to be following the same path as many others - destruction, mayhem, and an eventual push to overthrow the government. One of their chief leaders was arrested about a year ago."

 

"He's the one they're demanding release of?"

 

"And four others member as well – all of them as high profile and just as dangerous. The government didn’t waste anything time executing them, quietly and secretively. “

 

“One has to wonder why this group is so insistent upon those particular men.”

 

“Three men, two women and I would agree, unless the _Protagonistas_ knows and will be using it as a reason later to execute the Ambassador. There is no way the Government can resurrect the dead.”

 

Illya entered the plane, looked around for a moment, then turned to his right and began to ascend the spiral staircase to first class.

 

Napoleon followed his lead. "That is exactly what the U.S. hopes to avoid, unless the good guys can rescue him of course. Besides the two of us, they would be…?”

 

“ _Escondidos de Fachadas_ , an independent group made up of older, retired enforcement agents from various security organizations: FBI, CIA, even UNCLE. Rainer was Number One, Section Two in Paris until THRUSH got him. He lost an eye, the hearing in his right ear, along with most of his face before it was all over. Aside from it making him ineligible to recertify, it made him very visible. That’s not really a boon in our line of work. UNCLE offered him a desk job, which he declined. Why they didn’t detrain him is still a mystery, but his way of dealing with his premature retirement was to join _Escondidos._ Within a year, he was running the show _”_    Illya stopped before a pair of seats, offering Napoleon to precede him. At Napoleon's upraised hand of polite decline, he smiled and took his regular window seat.

 

“Would it still make him a rather visible target?”

 

“They wear masks - all the time. It’s said unmasked members can pass each other on the street and never know it.”

 

“I’d know it.”

 

“You have to, they don’t. In fact, they work very hard not to know the faces behind the masks.

 

"Hmm, I wonder what the in-flight movie will be." Napoleon smoothly changed the subject as he caught a fellow passenger listening to their conversation.

 

"As if you ever watch something else besides the lovely ladies," Illya muttered before peering out the window.

 

Napoleon slid his briefcase under the seat in front of them and grinned warmly at his friend. "True. I do have a certain reputation to uphold. I'm happy about flying First Class, though. We were fortunate all the coach seats were full and Waverly was in a hurry to get us down there. Just think - the ability to fly in style, drink champagne, eat good food, and pretend we have normal lives."

 

"Please, spare me the bourgeois attitude, Napoleon. You know how I feel about such things. Besides, I'm sure Mr. Waverly will get it out of our hides somehow. Besides, from what I’m told, normal is highly over-rated."

 

“Would either of you gentlemen care for champagne?” The stewardess’s voice was melodious. “Or perhaps a phone number?”

 

Illya rolled his eyes and Napoleon grinned. He passed a glass to Illya and then took one for himself. Watching the woman move away to the next passenger, Napoleon nodded a toast to Illya and sipped, making a face. “That’s not a prime vintage,” he murmured.”

 

“Welcome to the realities behind First Class.” Illya drained his glass and handed it back.

 

Napoleon glanced up and down the narrow aisle. He smiled at the woman he caught looking back, a smile on her lips and a flirt in her eyes. Illya reached into the briefcase he carried. He leaned forward to pull a couple of folders from his briefcase before sliding it under the seat in front of him.

Illya sighed and flipped open top folder even as Napoleon was handing back the empty glasses. The woman swayed away while Napoleon watched appreciatively.

 

“What is this power you have over women, Napoleon? You don’t even talk to them and they are throwing themselves at you, proverbial lambs to the slaughter.”

 

Napoleon grinned and held his glass up. Illya followed suited. “When you’ve got it, you’ve got it. And I intend to keep _it_ for a very long time.”

 

“Perhaps Medical had a shot for _it_ by now.”

 

“Don’t even joke about that.” Napoleon sipped and made a face.

 

“Would either of you like a magazine?” Another stewardess leaned close enough to share her delicate perfume with them.

 

Illya shook his head and returned to his paperwork as Napoleon began an age-old dance. First class or not, it was going to be a long flight.

 

**Act Three**

 

 

It was raining as they disembarked -- a warm, caressing rain, unlike the cold, hard driving storms of New York and Napoleon titled his head back to let the rain drops tickle his face.

 

"If the rain is any indication of the women --” Napoleon began.

 

"It could make our job even more difficult," Illya finished. Napoleon made a face and shook his head slowly.

 

"Are you sure you don't belong to one of those odd religious groups that forces you surrender your libido for something of lesser value?"

 

Illya grunted noncommittally and led the way to the baggage claim. It took an infuriating twenty minutes before their suitcase tumbled onto the ramp.

 

“Hope you didn’t pack anything breakable?”

 

“Not this time.” Illya gestured with a nod of his head. "I think I just spotted our welcoming committee."

 

A tall, slender man and a shorter more heavyset man approached them slowly, scanning the crowd casually, as if looking for someone, but already deciding it wouldn't be either of them. When they drew abreast to them, the tall one murmured, “¿ _Señor_ Solo, SeñorKuryakin?"  The voice was thick with a Spanish accent and slightly slurred due to one corner of the speaker’s mouth twisted up by scar tissue.

 

" _Si_ ," Napoleon said, cautious, but polite. “¿ _Le puedo ayudar (_ May I help you _)_?”

 

"Your accent is good, I’ll grant you that. “   The tall man shifted to English. "I hate wasting my time playing spot the spy. I’ve got too much to do for that. _Dígalos que tenemos nuestro objetivo_ (Tellthem we have our target)," he said to his companion. The man nodded and disappeared.

 

Napoleon and Illya exchanged wary glances and Illya shifted slightly, his hand close to the Walther P-38 tucked safely away beneath his arm. "You were told we were coming."

 

“I wouldn’t get any close to that weapon if I were you,” the man advised, his eyes hidden by the glasses. “There are a dozen men with guns trained on you. I’d hate sending two bullet-riddled corpses back to Waverly so early in the game.” Illya’s hand dropped back to his side. "To answer your question, apparently Waverly thinks the world knows you two on sight and didn’t think to include a description.” He snapped his fingers and two men appeared, each one taking a suitcase before the disappeared back into the crowd.

 

“So much for the invisibility factor, at least where Mr. Waverly’s concerned,” Illya murmured.

 

“I'm Mercer Rainer." He offered a hand and a neutral handshake. “The man who just left is my lieutenant, Douglas Dixon, former CIA.” Then he ran a hand through his long wavy brown hair, absently patting to cover the scar tissue that was his missing ear. "Can we talk go someplace to talk or do you demand I continue to play diplomat?"

 

"Please don't stand on ceremony for our sakes," Napoleon urged, then followed after Rainer, who had turned heel and stalked away at such a pace Napoleon had to maintain a brisk step; Illya was at a near run just to keep up.

 

Rainer wove his way out of the airport and headed for a nondescript car. Napoleon and Illya’s bags were already safely secured on the roof luggage rack and Dixon sat behind the wheel. Rainer opened the nearest passenger door and motioned with his hand. "Get in. I’ll brief you during the ride."

 

They both settled in the back and the car shot off, like a rocket, into the congested traffic. They drove for a few minutes and then Rainer began to talk, never looking back over his shoulder at them, but always straight ahead. "In our dragnet last month, we caught two well-armed guerillas who we believed had been on the verge of another kidnapping. So far, it's been our only break. We’re very methodical with our investigation, but time is running out. I know we’ll turn up something sooner or later… I just didn’t want it to be the body of the Ambassador."

 

"Not leaving a stone unturned, you mean?" Napoleon asked.

 

“Stone, corpse, whatever it takes.” Dixon yanked the wheel to the left and shouted something at the car beside them. The UNCLE agents exchanged disapproving looks. “What? What is that look? We do what we need to, so don’t go acting all superior. Don’t condemn our methods because they aren’t as squeaky clean as UNCLE’s are.”

 

“A little defensive, aren’t you?”

 

“I get results.” The car rocked right and then left before slamming to a stop, inches short of the one in front of it. “We do what we have to. So far, among the other wild goose chases we've been on, we ended up dragging a lake where the Ambassador's body was supposedly dumped. We didn't find him, but we did uncover a ring of car thieves. They'd been stealing the cars, sinking them, and then later dredging them up. You have to hand it to _Los_ _Protagonistas_ , they have learned all the tricks. No one expected them to escalate into kidnapping quite so fast."  

 

The car started back up with a jerk.   “Any thoughts as to why?” Illya grabbed onto the door handle to keep from being tossed into Napoleon.

 

“One big hint - and I’ll give you a clue. Foul deeds will rise, though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Emphasis on the fowl.”

 

Napoleon scowled, his fingers digging into his knees. “THRUSH?”

 

“THRUSH. I happened to recognize the silhouette from one of the communiqués we received from them.”

 

“And now the fog lifts.” Illya stared out the window at a suddenly colorless and much more hostile world – their world.

 

 

                                                            ****

 

Napoleon Solo tried to find a comfortable position upon the hard, narrow cot, while keeping a maximum of attention to the voice issuing from his communicator. The bed seemed equally determined to be as uncomfortable as possible. He swore a spring was poking him in the middle of his back through the thin mattress, even thought he’d already checked it. He decided have to take care of that after his call and swap bunks without Illya knowing it.

 

“Are you sure about the THRUSH involvement?” Waverly asked and Napoleon smiled, hearing the scowl in his voice

 

“Rainer is, although I’ve had no opportunity to verify it. It might be his imagination or he could be dead on.”

 

“Are you getting on with Mr. Rainer?”

 

Napoleon looked around at their room. He had a closet larger at home. “I’m not, but Illya and Rainer seem to be hitting it off. Rainer has taken him on a tour of the facilities at the moment. They are very serious about their work here, almost too serious. Their level of efficiency and commitment is almost fanatical. They seem to be very well stocked, mostly through private donations and well trained.   I do have the impression that there are about as many agendas as there are participants, but they seem to be able to put everything aside and work for a common goal when need be. If THRUSH is involved, I almost feel sorry for them."

 

“Whether you approval of their methods, Mr. Solo, their recovery rate is very good.” Waverly’s voice crackled and popped. “They are sent all over the country to retrieve kidnapped officials and have been successful in nearly every case.”

 

“Well, I’ve got my fingers crossed that this isn’t one of the other cases.” Napoleon looked about the small grey room he was sharing with his partner. “All the hostages have been recovered alive?”

 

“All the hostages have been recovered,” Waverly corrected. “You and Mr. Kuryakin are there to assure that this effort ends on a positive note. The _Protagonistas de la Gente_ has issued another ultimatum and we are currently bargaining for time.”

 

“Any time you can get us will help, sir.” Napoleon dropped the pen-like communicator to his chest, pausing as the door creaked open. “Stand by.” He sat up and moved his hand closer to his weapon.

 

“¿ _Señor_ Solo?” A hooded figure moved into the doorway.

 

 _¿Sí?”_ His hand was on the Walther now and a finger slid the safety off.

_“¿Está bien?”_ The man glanced around the room as if checking for leaks or insects. “ _Esto es primitivo para usted.”_

 

 _“Si, pero es bueno_.”

 

As if satisfied that Napoleon wasn’t suffering too much, the man nodded and walked away, leaving the door ajar. It was only after he left that Napoleon realized it was the man who was with Rainer at the airport… Dixon?

 

He was about to speak again when he heard Illya’s voice. It was muffled and Napoleon’s eyes narrowed.

 

"You’ve got a very efficient facility, Mr. Rainer, I’m impressed." Illya preceded the man into the room, his head covered with a hood. There was merely slits for his eyes, nose and mouth cut into the rough fabric.

 

"Seventeen with UNCLE, twelve years here. It’s taught me that you either succeed or you die trying.” Rainer’s reply was as muffled as the two men entered the tiny room, completely filling it with their presence. "Mr. Solo, have you made the proper contacts?" He pulled off the hood and Illya followed suit.

 

Napoleon lifted the slender communicator up, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. "Just calling home to let them know we arrived safe and sound.” He brought the communicator back up to his mouth. “Channel D out.”

“May I?” Rainer held out a hand for the communicator and Napoleon passed it to him. He turned it over in his hand before offering it back. "Sure making them smaller than they used to. They used to be briefcases. If you went out of range, you could always bash someone’s brains in with it. I left just as they were phasing in the cigarette cases. Can this be tracked?"

 

“By us, yes. By THRUSH, not that we know of," Illya said as Rainer returned the communicator to Napoleon.

 

“Are you comfortable enough here?” Rainer glanced around at the cell like room. “It’s pretty much the best we can offer.”

 

“Your man, Dixon, was just here checking on us."

 

“He was? That’s odd,” Rainer grunted.

 

“I’ll you what I told him. It’s not the Ritz, but it will do just fine.”

 

“At least, you have your own can. I don’t even have that. You’ll still have to shower with everyone else”

 

"The story of my life,” Napoleon said with a smile. “What's next on the agenda?"

 

Rainer's sole eye regarded him as the thin lips twisted in an attempted smile. “You remember those two guerillas I spoke of earlier?

 

“I do,” Napoleon sat up and then got to his feet. Rainer towered over him, but Napoleon wasn’t intimidated. “Have you gotten them to talk?”

 

“We always get them to talk. While we were picking you up, one revealed the whereabouts of a _Protagonistas_ ' stronghold. We plan a major offensive in a few hours. If you two would care to tag along, we're always pleased to have extra manpower." Rainer's long legs took in the distance between him and to a tiny closet in three strides. He slid back the door. "In here you'll find the necessary accouterments for becoming an _Escondido_. Whether you’re eating, taking a leak or in the field with us, your faces are to be covered …constantly. It's for your own safety. Waverly would have my ass if I lost his two golden boys.”

 

Illya's face colored slightly at the remark, but Napoleon caught his arm.

 

"Right now, we need you to concentrate upon rescuing Ambassador Starr. If THRUSH is here, we’ll take care of it."

 

"I would like to see the prisoners,” Illya interrupted before Rainer could offer an argument otherwise.

 

"See, yes. Talk, no. Sadly, one of them shook free his mortal coil while we were at the airport picking you two up. The other is currently in a coma. Dixon was a bit overenthusiastic with his questioning this morning.”

 

"That’s barbaric!" Illya’s voice became hard and he sat down hard on Napoleon’s cot, his hands clasped before him in what Napoleon recognized as an attempt to control his anger.

Napoleon’s hand gripped Illya’s arm tightly. Illya looked in Napoleon’s direction, an argument in his eyes.

 

"This is a barbaric world, Kuryakin, and I assumed you knew that,” Rainer snapped, staring at the men, eyes narrowing at their closeness. “Perhaps UNCLE has softened you from the man you once were. In a country a third the size of the United States, we can’t afford to be pretty, just fast and efficient. We need the information and playing nice doesn’t get us what we want. We take the proper steps to achieve our goal. You will discover that we are very goal oriented here. Dixon is usually highly successful with his methods."

 

“So why haven’t you found Starr?” Napoleon gave Illya’s arm one last squeeze and released it.

 

“I said usually, not always.” Rainer hitched himself up onto the small table that separated the beds.

 

 

"So, we're going to go in and raid this stronghold?" Napoleon asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

 

Rainer laughed. "We are specialists, much like the Marines. We don’t raid, we decimate. We'll be in and have the entire place in our possession before they're even aware they are under siege.  It makes us even more mysterious and that much more of a danger to anyone who resists us." He turned to leave, and then added over his shoulder. "Should you decide to join us, the attack is scheduled for 1500 hours."

 

For a moment, Napoleon kept silent. “How good are their facilities here, Illya?”

 

“Surprisingly efficient. They have an extensive complex, even a full medical wing.”

 

“Just right to keeping prisoners alive.”

 

“As well as their own. Dixon was showing me one guy, got caught a mess of cross fire. Poor guy looked like a mummy and had more tubes going in and out of him than ants on a picnic sandwich. The doc told me they were keeping him in a medical coma just long enough for his family to make the journey in from the country to say goodbye.”

 

“How touching.”

 

“My thoughts as well. I’d have let him die with a little dignity, but they didn’t ask me.”

 

                                                            *****

 

Illya entered their shared quarters wearing only his underwear and a towel draped around his neck. Unceremoniously, he collapsed to sit on his cot and began to vigorously dry his hair. Napoleon set the book aside.

 

“Good shower?”

 

Illya paused and dropped the towel to his knees. “Have you ever tried to shower wearing a hood? I finally said the hell with it and took it off. If someone is going to sneak up and shoot me in the shower, I deserve to be dead. This whole mask of mystery thing is a bit much for me. All you have to do is look for someone with a pale face and a tan body to pinpoint one of the _Escondido_ members. I’ve already ID’d dozen of them and if I can… ”

 

“So can THRUSH.”   Napoleon sat up, dropping his legs over the edge of the cot. “Their foolproof methods are pretty transparent, at least to professionals. If Rainer is right and THRUSH is running the show it could be why these guys can’t get within a mile of the Ambassador.”

 

"Did that whole thing stink of a set up to you?"

 

"More than.” Napoleon acknowledged watching his partner return to towel drying his hair. “It had the stench of futility around it. They knew we were coming...”Napoleon trailed off as the door opened and Rainer walked in, an atmosphere of anger whirling around him. Dixon followed behind, hands clenching and unclenching.

 

Rainer took a set on the table, as seemed to be his habit, as Dixon remained by the door.

 

“I can’t believe we came away with nothing…" Rainer pulled off his hood and ran a hand through his hair.

 

"Not exactly nothing,” Dixon muttered. “But close enough.”

 

“You did pick up a worthwhile cache of guns and ammunition,” Illya said as he slid past Dixon to return to the bathroom.

 

“For all the good that’s going to do us. _¿El capitán, si usted me dispensará_ (if you will excuse me)? _Interrogo al preso restante_ (I will interrogate the remaining prisoner).”

_“Claro que si_ (yes, of course).” The man walked from the room and Napoleon got up to close the door tightly.

 

"Can he stand it?" Illya sat to pull on his boots. "Perhaps you should let him get used to consciousness for a bit. I've seen more humane treatment in the _Lubyanka_."

 

“You know of the _Lubyanka_?”

 

Illya arched an eyebrow at him as if to ask, _is this a trick question?_ “Intimately.”

 

“Perhaps it would benefit us to have you talk with him after he wakes up then.”

 

“If he wakes up, you mean.”

 

Rainer turned his head to glare at the Russian. “He’ll wake up.”

 

Illya opened his mouth to speak and Napoleon brought a finger to his lips, pointing to the ceiling. Rainer stared at him as he searched for a piece of paper and a pencil.

 

Hurriedly, Napoleon scribbled down, _we being bugged._ He pointed to a small crack in the wall.

Illya frowned and climbed up onto his cot, stretching to reach the spot.

 

Almost immediately, Rainer pushed him aside and took his place, easily slipping long narrow fingers into the crack. He brought out a small microphone.

 

Illya gestured and Rainer handed it over.

 

“So what do you think we should do, Napoleon?”

 

“I think we raise the reward for information? There are times when money speaks more loudly than words," Napoleon said, watching Illya carry the microphone to the table.

 

"Would UNCLE be able to bankroll that?" Rainer protested.

 

"Don't worry about liquidating UNCLE's coffers," Illya muttered drily. “We’re good for it.”

 

"I'll call home and see what I can arrange. Any man who give us info, we should probably even extend to members of your own group. It might make them a bit more observant," Napoleon said.

 

"Thanks, Solo, you've been a real asset and I'm glad to have both of you aboard here."

 

Napoleon made a slashing mark across his throat and Illya snapped the microphone in half.

 

“What the hell is that all about,” Rainer shouted, grabbing Illya’s wrist. “Who the hell put that there?”

 

“No certain, but there’s only been one other man who has paid us a visit here that I know of.”

 

“Dixon? Impossible. I trust him with my life.”

 

“How well do you know him, Rainer? “

 

“Better than my own family.” He pried the microphone out of Illya’s grip and studied it. “This is one of ours alright.”

 

“Then I would suggest choosing your family members very carefully.” Illya finished dressing. I am going to drop in and see if the prisoner is still alive.”

 

“Do you think he knows something?”

 

“No idea, but if he does, I can almost guarantee I can make him talk.”

 

“Threatening his life didn’t work.”

 

“It rarely does. Torture only results in having people say exactly what they think you want to hear. If he is in collaboration with the enemy, Dixon may be hedging his bets. I’m willing to bet the prisoner has already died of his injuries.”

 

The walkie talkie on Rainer’s belt squawked and he brought it to his ear. “Rainer. I see. Thank you.” He lowered it and scowled. “The prisoner has indeed just succumbed to his injuries.”

 

Napoleon nodded solemnly. “I think it’s time for us to take the lead. Rainer, you’ve got to trust us and it’s vital that you don’t let on that you suspect him.”

 

“Don’t worry.” He pulled his hood back on. “I’m a good actor when need be.”

 

**Act Four**

                                                           

                                               

“I think it may be too late for Ambassador Starr, sir. We have a spy within our midst. He keeps the _Protagonistas_ updated on all our moves.”

 

“All right, Mr. Solo, what do you think needs to be done?”

 

“I think we need to draw in the net a bit closer. If our plans are leaking, then we need to plug the hole. We need to do that by making the leak expose himself to us.”

 

“I will let Mr. Rainer know.”

 

“I’d rather tell him myself, sir. Right now, the only spot I am certain of as being secure is ours. I have a feeling the leak is high up… very high up.” Napoleon scratched his nose and watched a cockroach skitter up the wall. “If you could call him and tell him that the reward is up to a million dollars for information leading to Starr, I think we might get a bite.:

 

“Mr. Solo, UNCLE is not made of money, you know.”

 

Napoleon smiled at the exasperation in Waverly’s voice. “I do indeed, sir, but I have a feeling that in a country where money speaks louder than human life, it might just be enough to flush out our target.”

 

Napoleon was sitting in the common room, reading his way through a stack of files. There were a half dozen other hooded men engaged in similar pursuits or just talking quietly among themselves. Everyone is on edge, ready to move, but without a target to attack.

 

He’d just set aside a massive file on the corruption in the local government when he saw someone approaching him. Despite the hood he wore, the slender build and familiar cut of the shoulders told him it was Illya,

 

“What’s going on?” he asked as Illya leaned close to him.

 

"We've got a positive lead and, I think our leak has been identified.” Illya’s whisper was barely audible I his ear. "Starr has been sighted and Rainer wants us in our room - now."

 

Napoleon nodded and stood, following Illya out. Several heads swiveled in their direction, but Napoleon kept his movements casual and loose, not willing to tip his hand yet.

 

He turned left and headed for the showers while Illya headed back to their shared quarters. Napoleon waited for five minutes and then walked back out, a towel over one shoulder.

 

When he arrived at the room, Illya and Rainer were waiting.

 

“About time, I thought you got lost or worse.”

 

“I was just hedging my bets in case our friend has his own source of info.” Napoleon sat on his bed and pulled off the hood. “What is going on?”

 

“Waverly called on my secured line and told me that the reward was up to one million, providing Starr was still alive. Within ten minute, Dixon came in saying that he’d gotten word that Starr was being held in a building in _Lomas de Zamana_.” Rainer spread a map out on the table.

 

“Where is that?” Illya leaned in closer.

 

“Here.” Rainer stabbed the map with a finger. “The ironic part is that it is less than a block from here.”

 

“Convenient and damn clever,” Napoleon murmured. “So close to HQ no one would suspect.”

 

“Is Starr still alive?”

 

“I think so. Waverly made it clear that the reward wouldn’t be awarded if Starr was dead.”

 

“Can we move quickly and quietly enough, and with suitable manpower without alert Dixon?” Illya straightened.

 

“I think so. I have some men whom I’ve known for years. I will take them aside and explain the situation. I can count on their discretion.” Rainer glanced at the door. “I will need about an hour to get them ready.”

 

“What about Dixon?” Napoleon asked and Illya flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles.

 

“Leave him to me.”

 

“Give him something to think about during our absence, will you, _amigo_?” Rainer asked and Illya nodded.

 

“Trust me. He’s going to enjoy his quiet time in the medical ward.”

 

                                                            ****

 

 

Napoleon walked out of the building and glanced around. Without his hood, the pedestrians ignored him. He strolled down the cracked and broken concrete, pausing every once in a while to kick at a rock or bit of debris. When he grew level with the building hold Starr, he slipped a hand into his pocket, pulled out a smoke grenade and tossed it inside. Immediately, smoke began to pour out of the open doorway.

 

Then the smoke started from a second story window and Napoleon knew Illya had made his way in.

 

 _“¡Ah mi Dios, fuego, fuego (_ Oh my God, fire, fire)!” He looked around and waved to some people across the street. _¡Ayuda (_ Help) _!”_

 

People started running toward the building as other men started stumbling out, coughing. Napoleon glanced at his watch and took off at a run around the edge of the building. He knew that Rainer and the others were coming in from the back.

 

As a man ran out the side exit, Napoleon dropped him with a quick one-two punch and then he pulled his Walther. He made sure it was set for sleep darts and then he moved cautiously into the building.

 

He turned a corner, lifted a fist to deliver a punch, then caught himself at the sight of Illya.

 

“What are you doing down here?” Napoleon yelled.

 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

 

“What the hell is going on, Illya?”

 

“I don’t know. Rainer didn’t ask me…” Illya trailed off just as Napoleon’s eyes widen. “Oh my… I don’t believe it.”

 

“I think our party is elsewhere.”

 

Both men ran from the building, pushing by Rainer as they did. The man stopped and then continued on, rifle blazing.

 

Slowly and cautiously, Napoleon and Illya moved through the familiar corridors of the _Escondidos’_ headquarters _,_ the tension level rising as they drew closer to the medical ward.

 

“We need a way in,” Napoleon whispered.

 

“It’s your turn to play wounded victim.”

 

“But you do it so well.”

 

“Typecasting is an ugly thing, Napoleon.”

 

“So’s death.” Napoleon grabbed Illya’s arm and draped it over his neck. He took a deep breath and shouted for help.

 

The doctor came out of the door and frowned. “What happened?”

 

“He got caught in a crash,” Napoleon said, doing his best to sound frantic.

 

“There’s not a scratch I can see. What crash?”

 

“This one.” Illya’s fist took the man down to the ground and Napoleon delivered one more blow for good measure.

 

Illya dashed into the ward and pointed his weapon at Dixon. The man has gotten free of his restraints and was standing over the bandaged covered form on the bed. He had a lethal looking knife poised in his hand.

 

“Don’t do it, Dixon. Your little gig is up.”

 

“You wouldn’t shoot me in cold blood,” Dixon sneered. “You UNCLE agents are too worried about doing what’s right. You don’t have the guts.”

 

The rifle blast made Illya jump and he spun to see Rainer standing there. “I’m not UNCLE and I have the guts.” With a perplexed look on his face, Dixon dropped to his knees. Rainer shot again, blasting him away from the bed and the man lying there. “And a very long memory.”

 

**Epilogue**

 

Illya tossed the last of his clothes into his suitcase and glanced up as Napoleon walked through the door, Rainer close behind him.

 

“I have to give him credit. He had more balls than brains. Imagine keeping Starr here the whole time.”

 

“Imagine Starr being the president’s brother,” Napoleon answered back. “No wonder they wanted him back. Who was that in all the communiqués?”

 

“No idea.” Rainer blew out a mouthful of air. “I’m still in a daze over the depth of the corruption in our ranks. I thought we were all so committed.”

 

“You were, just to different ideals.” Illya closed his suitcase. “What will you do now?”

 

“Well this is pretty well over down here. I thought maybe I’d come back to the states for a bit. Look around, see what needs cleaning up. After the _políticas_ here, the US doesn’t seem quite so bad.” He held out a hand to Napoleon. “It’s been an eye opening experience if not a pleasure, Solo. Maybe we will meet again under better conditions.”

 

“There’s still a place for you with UNCLE.” Illya came forward to offer his hand as well.

 

“I’ve sort of gotten used to doing things by my own rules. I don’t imagine Waverly and I would see eye-to-eye on most things.”

 

“Look us up if you need to.”

 

“Thanks again. It wasn’t the ending I’d envisioned, but when does Life play by the rules. In the end, we won and that’s all that matters.”

 

With that Rainer tossed his mask onto the cot and walked proudly from the room.

 

“Do you think he really believes that?” Illya asked, hefting up his suitcase. “That winning is all that matters?”

 

”No idea, partner, but I know winning doesn’t mean anything if good men die along the way. When you mask them and pretend they are no one, inevitably something will happen to give one of them the need for a voice.” He dropped the mask. “We never know what made Dixon snap. Greed, power, or a sheer need of being recognized.”

 

“Invisibility isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be,” Illya said. “Let’s go home, Napoleon. As I recall, we still have a bit of birthday left to celebrate. And Juanita really does make a very nice omelet.” At Napoleon’s smirk, Illya grinned. “Well, I’m only human…”


End file.
